


Finely woven silk and steel threads

by moon_waves



Category: Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drabble Collection, Drama, F/M, Family Issues, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2020-10-24 21:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_waves/pseuds/moon_waves
Summary: A collection of drabbles cross-posted from tumblr - each drabble is based on a writing prompt.I: "Stop yelling and listen for a second."/ Charles Brandon & Mary I of England(Gen / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama)II: "I like it when you say my name like that."/ Charles Brandon/Mary Tudor Queen of France(Mature / Romance)III: “What did I do wrong this time?”/ Mary I of England & Frances Brandon(Gen / Drama, Family Issues)IV: “You think it’s funny, but it’s not. That hurts a lot, actually.”/ Charles Brandon/Mary Tudor Queen of France, Henry VIII of England & Charles Brandon(Gen / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst)V: Tarot card prompts(Mary Tudor, Queen of France / Mary I of England)VI: Quadrimular/ Anne Boleyn(Gen / Angst)VII: “Have you ever even considered what I think about all this?”/ Mary I of England & Charles Brandon(Gen / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama)VIII: “I am not leaving you here.”/ Elizabeth I of England & Mary I of England(Gen / Drama, Family Issues)





	1. “Stop yelling and listen for a second.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stop yelling and listen for a second." / Charles Brandon & Mary I of England / Gen / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama

If it had been another Mary Tudor - his wife, for instance - he would have gotten a plate thrown at his head, but as it stands, his niece only huffs and puts her hands on her hips, chin pointed towards the sky, staring at him with pure anger in her eyes.

She looks exactly like her father at the same age but it’s absolutely out of question he will say that to her - not when Henry is the cause of their current fight (and he curses the day he got himself stuck in the middle between his best friend, his wife and his niece-slash-favorite-goddaughter).

“I know you’re upset, _and I get it, honestly,_” he quickly adds - seven hells, he is so bad at that, but Mary has taken the girls out this afternoon and he hadn’t expected for his niece to storm in anger - raising his hands in a defensive gesture, “but yelling won’t bring your parents back together, Mary. And Anne isn’t trying to take your mother’s place, she just wants some peace, if only for Henry’s sake. The two of you don’t have to become best friends, nobody expects you to, just… to be cordial to each other?”

Mary stares at him for so long that he starts to think he just put his foot in his mouth big time - Henry, he knows how to handle after all these years of friendships (even though that doesn’t stop missteps from happening) - but Mary? The sweet toddler who came after _years _of waiting? The bright, delightful child who turned into a no less bright and delightful teenager? Who inherited both her parents’ temper?

“I do not _want _to be her friend!” Mary finally explodes - and it probably would have turned into a fiery rant had a hiccup not stopped her. 

Tears, on the other hand, he knows how to deal with - sobbing teenagers need a shoulder to lean on, and for an adult to assure them that everything will be alright, even if they allow themselves to believe it only for a short while.

He _has _to believe things will come to a peaceful end - and if has to play peacemaker between three Tudors, one Trastamara and one Boleyn, then so be it. 


	2. "I like it when you say my name like that."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I like it when you say my name like that." / Charles Brandon/Mary Tudor Queen of France / Mature / Romance

“Like what?” Charles asked sleepily, almost dozing off, his hand running up and down Mary’s back, brushing against the curls of her hair every now and then.

The wind was howling outside - the first days of spring had been tentatively warm until their marriage, but the weather had turned cold and stormy as soon as they had gotten married at the Hotel de Clugny, under the watchful eyes of King Francis. Charles hadn’t minded it too much, and neither had Mary, so far - they had found great ways to enjoy themselves, in the marital bed. The raging storm almost made them feel like they were alone, the darkness of the room only broken by the numerous candles and the fire that had been lit up earlier in the day.

“Like it’s some sort of prayer,” Mary explained with a little smile, her lips brushing against Charles’ temple.

He opened one eye and looked at her, feeling his cheeks warm slightly under her amused gaze. Her time as Queen at the French court had done her good - she had never been a shy Princess, but there was nothing quite like spending time in hostile territory to build character. Charles had heard enough about Louise of Savoy - the new King’s mother, a woman of formidable political acumen - to be aware that his beloved wife (his _wife_, he couldn’t still quite wrap his head around that fact) had had to go through some hardships during her short tenure.

Mary herself had told him some things in passing, but he knew how blood-thirsty royal courts could be. 

“Some sort of prayer,” he repeated slowly, a glint appearing in his eyes - that was soon matched by a smirk on his beloved’s face. “And pray tell, Your Majesty, does it suit your ears?”

“It does indeed,” she answered with a malicious smile before inching closer to kiss him, her small frame molding itself against his body - a bold move that came in opposition to her angelic appearance.

He felt himself stir again, all thoughts of sleep gone from his mind and body. Reaching a hand to cup her head and bring her closer to him, he rolled Mary onto the bed, kissing her passionately, swallowing her surprised gasp at the move and then her giggles. His lips turned into a smile too, and he took advantage of her surprise to pin her to the bed before lowering himself, kissing down every inch of her pale skin until he reached his destination.

He raised his eyes to Mary’s, noticing with satisfaction the blush that was expanding on her face and the way she was already heavily breathing, biting her lower lip in expectation.

“With Your Majesty’s permission…” he said in a mock-obedient tone, lips brushing against her sensible skin.

“Granted, Brandon,” she said with a gasp before pushing down his head, her hand holding onto his hair. _“Now get on with it.”_

“Your wish is my command,” he said quickly, stifling a laugh before putting all his heart and experience into pleasuring his Queen.

Moans and gasps soon filled the room as the wind was still howling outside, the heavy rain pouring against the windows, but they didn’t even notice, too lost into each other to care about anything else.


	3. “What did I do wrong this time?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What did I do wrong this time?” / Mary I of England & Frances Brandon / Gen / Drama, Family Issues

Frances bit back a sigh before moving from her seat, kneeling in front of her cousin, still holding Mary’s hands tightly between hers. It was unusual for her to see her cousin in such a poor state - tears streaming down her cheeks, voice bobbling and breaking on every couple of words, but the deed had been done. 

Queen Katherine Howard had managed to reduce the eldest daughter of King Henry to tears (_the only legitimate Princess of England_, a little voice whispered in her head, but she shooed it away - now was not the time to endanger her standing at court), a feat only a few people could pride themselves on.

“The Queen needs your submission to be entirely comfortable at court,” Frances softly pointed out, carefully picking her words. “I am sure she doesn’t wish to cause you harm, but she knows how dangerous it could become for her, if she has to go against you and your disapproval.”

Mary hiccuped again, opening her mouth to speak but Frances cut her short by squeezing her fingers, grateful that her cousin’s apartments were so richly furbished that she was kneeling on a plush carpet rather than on the cold wooden floor.

Attendants could still be heard in the room next door, but at least they were alone for now - a small blessing when in the King’s vicinity.

“She isn’t your enemy, Mary,” Frances went on, thinking about the priests and learned men of letters who were roaming the court, some of them none too inclined to charity as far as her cousin’s beliefs were concerned. “She isn’t trying to attack your status, she only wants you to respect hers. I don’t even think she would _want_ you to attend to her.”

A pause, then:

“I think you impress too much for that.”

The look Mary leveled on her made it clear what her cousin thought of her suggestion, but her sobbing had abated by that point, and the deathly grip on her hands had grown looser. 

“It may be so,” Mary said slowly, gently squeezing her hands before gesturing for Frances to go back to her seat rather than keep kneeling in front of her. “Still… she dismissed two of my maids.”

“And I am sure they will be allowed to come back as soon as you apologize to the Queen and show her the respect she is asking for,” Frances said in return, knowing when to push her advantage.

Mary might have a strong temper but she wasn’t the only one in the room with Tudor blood in her veins - Frances had learned a lot during her childhood from watching her parents together, and then, although less frequently, she had also learned from the way her father was handling the King of England. Such was the blessing of those closest to Tudor royalty - they could speak up their mind, if they could find the right window of opportunity. 

“In any case, I’m sure the King would prefer for the two of you to get along,” Frances added after a moment of silence, having the inkling that her cousin needed a little push still. “He did love it when you were attending on Queen Jane, didn’t he?”

Mary tensed for a moment and Frances grimaced a little, wondering if she hadn’t overstepped boundaries. Mary’s return to favor was still a sensitive topic for her cousin, although no one dared mention it - at least not in her presence. 

“If it be His Majesty’s pleasure, then of course it shall happen,” Mary said in a clipped tone before rising to her feet, straightening her gown in the same move, while Frances hurried to rise from her seat too. “Very well, cousin. If you will excuse me, I have to prepare for tonight’s festivities. I shall see you and your husband there?”

“Of course my Lady,” Frances said respectfully, bowing deeply before leaving the room, knowing a dismissal when she heard one.

She definitely had overstepped her boundaries, and was already regretting it - but it was too late to swallow back her words now.


	4. “You think it’s funny, but it’s not. That hurts a lot, actually.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think it’s funny, but it’s not. That hurts a lot, actually.” / Charles Brandon/Mary Tudor Queen of France, Henry VIII of England & Charles Brandon / Gen / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst

Henry slowly raised his eyes from the book he was reading, slightly alarmed at Charles’ tone of voice. It was rare for him to hear his best friend speaking in such a serious tone, and even rarer to hear that voice not addressed to _him_ but rather to someone else.

Namely, his darling little sister, who was staring at Charles with a surprised expression on her face – surprise that was slowly morphing into guilt. 

Henry grimaced a little behind his book and curled a little tighter on the couch, careful not to draw any attention onto him. He really didn’t want to get involved into whatever it was that these two were doing – dancing around each other, Catalina and Anne had both informed him with various degrees of amusement, and he wasn’t _stupid_, thank you very much, he had noticed as much by himself – but he didn’t have much choice on that account.

If they could refrain from blowing up before even having started dating, it would be nice, though – he wasn’t eager to have to pick up the pieces of two broken hearts, especially as close to him as they were.

“It was a _joke_, Charles,” Mary finally said, raising her chin in his direction, shoulders squared as if she was preparing herself for a fight. “I was just kidding.”

Charles frowned and Henry winced behind his book, almost holding his breath and praying that they wouldn’t remember he was sitting just a few steps away – and involve him.

“Do you have _any idea_,” Charles started slowly, jaws clenched, “how many people really believe that I only got here because I’m friend with your brother? That it was through no merit of my own? That there is absolutely nothing to me, not my grades, not my fencing skills, _nothing_, that explains why I’m still here?”

Mary remained silent, nose wrinkling in a way that made it obvious she wasn’t enjoying what she was hearing – and neither was Henry, who carefully put a bookmark in his book before putting it on the couch, intent on hearing everything that his best friend had to say. It was no secret to him that some people thought that Charles had gotten in their Ivy League college only through nepotism rather than because he was the youngest newest recruit of the national fencing team, but he hadn’t been aware that Charles knew about it – and was bothered by it.

In retrospect, he thought he had been quite the fool – _of course_ Charles would know about it, there wasn’t much that escaped his attention. He just remained rather quiet about it, making it easier for people to forget that he knew about gossip and rumors and other, more serious information.

“I take it that it’s a majority?” Mary finally said after a moment of silence, voice calm. 

Henry knew his sister well enough to be aware she was on her way to be really pissed off – but unfortunately, this time, it wasn’t a situation neither could do anything about it, lest they wanted to worsen it.

Charles nodded sharply once, jaws still clenched, before abruptly turning away and making a beeline for the kitchenette, barely avoiding the cat that sneaked between his feet before jumping on the counter, tail bouncing behind it. 

Henry winced again before meeting Mary’s eyes – and he saw his own thoughts reflected on her expression. 

_This_ wasn’t their burden to bear, it wasn’t a fight they could partake in – all they could do was remain on the sides and stay silent, letting others fight against assumptions and for their reputation, an uphill battle that could never really be won.

Such was the price of closeness with a Tudor.


	5. Tarot cards prompts / Mary Tudor, Queen of France / Mary I of England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarot prompts based on the Major Arcana, filled as drabbles.

> The Empress + Mary Tudor Queen of France

**The Empress:** fertility, natural world, beauty, dependence on others

_Fertility_

They all watch her belly, waiting for it to be filled, to swell with a new heir to the throne – they all wait for her belly to remain empty, for her womb to be barren, and she ignores it all, for once leaving it in the hands of God. Her mother, may she rest in peace, was a fertile woman, and so will she be, as long as her husband grant her the time she needs, as long as she can enjoy her life as a married woman.

(Charles blesses her with girls and boys, and she couldn’t be happier.)

_Natural world_

Their estates in Suffolk are peaceful, and yet in need of a woman’s hand. Her husband – her beloved Charles, may he live a long and healthy life – surrenders their domain to her, and yet she is more satisfied with those small pieces of land than what she reigned over, in France. She is at her place here, can do as she pleases, and put in practice everything she was taught. Nothing is ever as satisfying as tending to the gardens, though, and this is where she reigns supreme, where she feels most at peace, surrounded by the miracles of nature.

_Beauty_

The most beautiful princess in all of Christendom, they called her before her marriage, and none seems surprised as she grows into a beautiful woman, filled with a happy married life, healthy children, a husband who adores her, the love of her brother the King of England, and lands upon which she reigns. She does not have to suffer the hardships that come from being Queen of France, and her beauty, miraculously, doesn’t suffer from her pregnancies nor the childbirth, and poets still worship her. (Only illness could take her beauty away from her, but never from Charles’ eyes, never.)

_Dependence on others_

She is a Princess of England, and as much commands over a great many people, but there isn’t much in her life that she can decide entirely on her own – until her late husband breathes his last, and then she sizes her chance, knowing it will never come back, knowing it is now or never. She makes her own path then, cajoles and cries and plays the part until she has what she wants, because her darling brother could never refuse her, and her beloved Charles never could either, not even Wolsey will interfere, and Francis de Valois even less.

* * *

> The Star + Mary I

**The Star:** puddle, reflection, hope, serenity, lack of faith

_Puddle_

She avoids stepping in puddles as she walks in the gardens of Hatfield, her mind too busy with worries and pain and anger to really focus on the path her feet are taking her, until she reaches the end of the gardens, and then has to turn around and walk back to the manor, a servant trailing behind her in silence, leaving her to her contemplation. She is so focused on her thoughts that she doesn’t recognize herself when she sees her face in a puddle that’s clear of mud – and then she looks away, unable to bear the sight.

_Reflection_

She wishes she could see herself in the paintings of her late aunt, the Dowager Queen of France, but she hasn’t been blessed with such a happy life – hasn’t been able to marry yet, be it for the kingdom or for love, hasn’t met a man she could love as a woman ought to, may never be able to bear children as the years go by and she remains an old maid, but at least they share a name, and Mary takes comfort in knowing that the same Tudor blood flows through her veins, fortitude in the face of adversity.

_Hope_

Her father’s marriage with the Lady Jane Seymour brings her more hope than she had in the past three years, and then brings her the worst weeks of her short life, making her fight for her life with a dizziness that comes from realizing he was the one behind her treatment, not the concubine. There are no crumbs for her, no love, no title, nothing – nothing but the cold knowledge that she might die, if she doesn’t renounce; doesn’t denounce _everything_, herself, her faith, her parents’ marriage. Hope crumbles at the feet of her father, and she doesn’t forgive herself.

_Serenity_

Her hand is steady as she rides her horse into the night, her loyal followers sticking with her even though her brother’s council wants her dead. There is no place for hesitation here, and she has never felt more assured of herself, content and serene in the knowledge that her time has come, finally, that there is only one obstacle between her and her God-given right on the throne of England, that she will become what she has been raised for, what her whole life had driven her to. Mary, the first Queen regnant of England – long may she reign.

_Lack of faith_

Elizabeth dissembles and lies to her face, staring at her as if they were equals, as if Mary wasn’t her queen, her oldest sister, the sole reason why she is still alive after those bleak days of 1554, and it is more than she can bear – there is a lot she has suffered for the girl, and a lot she can accept, but lack of faith is not something she can forgive nor forget, and Elizabeth would do well to remember it. She will attend Mass and will behave like a proper Catholic daughter of England, in public at least.


	6. Quadrimular / Anne Boleyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quadrimular: lasting for four years / Anne Boleyn / Gen / Angst

She reigns supreme over the court for four full years, before it all goes down – not in flames, as she had dreamed of, waking up from her nightmares with a scream on her lips and blood pounding in her ears – but by the cold touch of the blade. 

There is still hope, deep within her heart, that Henry, her Henry might decide to commute the sentence and grace her, send her to a nunnery and allow her to live, perhaps even write to her daughter (_oh_, her _daughter_, her sweet Elizabeth, her baby, who will look after her now? she can only pray the Lady Mary will be gracious to the child as they share the same blood, and not join the crowd of her enemies, her sweet child,_ oh Elizabeth_), and she will hold onto that hope until she steps onto the scaffold –

until the blade touches her neck, truly, still believing in one saving grace that might come at the last moment, still holding onto the tiniest thread of hope, fading away as the hours tick by –

She cannot believe Henry believes her to be guilty, believes her enemies (that _rat _Cromwell, she knows he had a hand in this, knows he had been working with Chapuys in the weeks before her fall), believes she would have betrayed their marriage when they waited so long –

when she wasted her time, her youth while he couldn’t deliver himself from what kept him bounded to Katherine of Aragon, she could have had _children _had she not waited, sons to be the living image of their father –

when he did not give her as many chances as he gave Katherine, wasn’t their first child healthy and alive? she could have given him a son, had he waited a little, had he given her another chance after her miscarriage –

The bells toll and the bleak light of dawn start peering into her apartments – she has spent her last night praying, hoping for a miracle, hoping this won’t mean the ruin of her family after her.

(Oh, Mary, darling sister, stay away from court, remain safe with your husband, and please take care of Elizabeth if you can.)

(Oh Mother, Mother, what will become of you? Will you even be able to survive the loss of two of your children?)

She thinks, wonders what she could have done differently, wonders if court was indeed her ruin, after having brought her to such heights – anointed Queen consort of England, her hand weighing on the politics of the realm – wonders if the game was rigged as soon as she refused to become Henry’s mistress, wonders if her salvation could have come, had she allied herself with some of Katherine’s supporters...

But it’s too late now, four years gone in a blaze of – no, not glory, there is no glory for her, for she is to die a disgraced woman, she who was Queen of England, leaving behind her a heartbroken family and a sweet, innocent child, turned into a bastard, at the mercy of her father.

Four years, and her dreams have turned to ashes in her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question, do you people reading this prefer it to be in that format, or would you prefer singular stories regrouped in a series or in a collection?


	7. “Have you ever even considered what I think about all this?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you ever even considered what I think about all this?” / Mary I of England & Charles Brandon (Gen / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama)

Mary stops mid-rant, fork raised in the air, a bit of bologna dropping back onto her plate, splashing on the table. She is surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth turned into a oval, and Charles is hit in the face with the image of her aunt at the same age, on the rare occasions someone managed to surprise her.

“What you think about all this,” Mary finally repeats, slowly lowering her fork on her plate, brows now furrowing.

“Yes,” Charles says slowly.

He spots Eleanor staring at her plate with a mournful expression on her face. He regrets forcing her to witness that particular discussion – Mary and Frances are out for the day, and he had been supposed to spend so much needed time with his youngest daughter, until his niece had barged in right before lunch, furious, spitting like an angry cat, absolutely drenched for the rain storming outside. She had walked all the way from her father’s house until there in an attempt to calm her nerves, that much he knew, but it had been to no use.

He could have told her that, as well. It still doesn’t work for his wife either.

Mary is silent for a moment, staring at him like he has grown another head before finally closing her mouth, slightly unsettled.

“I... No,” she finally says.

She pauses for a few seconds.

“What of it, then, Uncle?”

Charles sighs, and stares at his cooling pasta with a regretful eye.

“Your father is my brother-in-law,” he finally says slowly before raising his eyes to meet hers, finally letting his weariness show. “And, more than that, my oldest and best friend.”

Mary looks a bit contrite by now.

“I understand that you do not appreciate Anne and that you do not want to spend with her,” Charles goes on, voice still gentle. “I understand that you are still angry at Henry for the divorce, and what happened during the procedures. It’s a normal reaction, and I am not trying to dismiss your feelings about that.”

He knew all these parenting and psychology books he read over the years would come in handy. He had just expected to be using them on his daughters, not on his niece.

“But?” Mary says, looking at him with a challenging expression in her eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak to her as an adult to another, before remembering Eleanor is still there, and it probably won’t do any good, not while she is still that angry.

He had had half a mind to tell Mary she was putting him in a difficult position, coming here so often on the heels of an argument with her father – but this does not concern her, so he will have to keep playing mediator instead. 

He only wishes he wasn’t so used to the infamous Tudor temper.

Time to speak up on behalf of his best friend, then.

“But Henry misses you and would like to spend time with you without it ending in an argument,” Charles says quietly. 

“Well, if he stopped bringing up that _woman _and having her around –” Mary starts saying, and he raises his hands as if to say stop.

Eleanor looks completely miserable over her pasta and he is already regretting having brought up that topic.

“I know you don’t want to spend time with her or hear about her,” Charles says with a placating tone. “Just... try to spend an hour with your father? Please?”

Mary hesitates before raising her chin defiantly.

“If it’s just the two of us and he doesn’t bring her up nor my mom, then yes,” she grumbles.

He hears the need for her father’s affection under her rough tone, and lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. It had been tough, hearing Henry asking if his daughter didn’t love him anymore, voice wet with barely held-back tears – but now at least he has an answer to that.

“I’ll talk to him about that,” he says with more confidence before reaching over the table to squeeze her hand. “I know it’s difficult for you, Mary, and that he has to meet you halfway, but please give him another chance?”

She squeezes his hand back before letting go and shrugging, turning back her attention onto her pasta and then her younger cousin, launching a discussion about the current heartthrob of the week. Eleanor literally jumps at the topic, obviously relieved the angry ranting is over, and he watches them carefully, thoughts already flying to the phone call he will have to make. He thanks his lucky star his marriage with Mary is still holding on great – they had hit a few bumps along the way, but it’s still a lot better than the way Henry’s marriage went up in flames a couple of years ago. It had been messy for sure, and both Henry and Catalina had messed up, forcing the poor Mary to take sides, but now it’s time for a new chapter.

For healing.

Or so he hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Divorce is complicated, especially when both parties do not agree on it, and even more so when the parents force their child(ren) to pick a side. In a modern AU, Mary would have had a lot more freedom to be angry at her father without terrible repercussions, whereas Henry could have put his pride aside more easily to reach out to his daughter. Obviously this is written from Brandon's POV - had it been from Mary 'Rose', she certainly wouldn't have expressed the same opinions.


	8. “I am not leaving you here.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am not leaving you here.” / Elizabeth I of England & Mary I of England (Gen / Drama, Family Issues)

“I am not leaving you here.”

“You are in no position to tell me what to do, Mary.”

Her sister bristled at the harsh words but she ignored her reaction, focusing her energy on not letting appear her true emotions. She did not need Mary to come and order her to pack her things  – no matter how much she had yearned for someone to come and take care of Thomas Seymour and his lecherous hands.

“I am your  _ sister _ ,” Mary insisted, fists on her hips, face already blushing with anger. “It is not fit for you to remain with Seymour, especially given the rumors of his behavior towards you. You should be in a respectable household, Elizabeth.”

“Like  _ yours _ ?” Elizabeth hissed, fingers holding tightly onto her rosary, feelings her cheeks warming up in annoyance.

The frown on Mary’s face didn’t bode well for her but she ignored it, stomping down the regret that had arose as soon as she had spoken. Of course Mary’s household was respectable  – she just didn’t want to live with her Papist sister.

“My household is more respectable than Seymour’s,” Mary hissed, jaws clenching in a way that meant she was doing her best to reign in her temper. “At least it is fit for a young, unmarried lady like you. You do not want to sully your reputation even more, do you Elizabeth?”

“Of course not!” Elizabeth immediately protested, jumping to her feet before controlling herself again. “But I do not want to live with  _ you _ , Mary.”

Her sister looked  _ hurt  _ at her words and she pinched her lips. It wasn’t as if she hated Mary  – she didn’t  – but as the years had gone by, she had realized she didn’t have much in common with her. Of course they were both fond of dancing and beautiful clothes and games, but Mary was very much a Papist at heart, while she followed the Reformed religion, and their outlooks on life were already very different as it was. 

“You  _ cannot  _ stay here,” Mary said after silence awkwardly stretched between them. “I will ask the Duke of Somerset to remove you himself in you do not do it by yourself, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth stared at her for a moment, shocked by the enormity of her words. If her sister meant to ask Edward Seymour of all people, then the situation must have been worse than she expected. 

“There is no need for that,” Elizabeth said hesitantly. “I will live elsewhere. I can stay with Kat  – ”

“You are not staying with your governess alone, Elizabeth,” Mary immediately said, frowning, before sighing. “But at least I am glad you realize the importance of you not staying  _ here  _ anymore.”

She sighed again before looking at Elizabeth with a disappointed expression that made her want to disappear into the ground. Mary had always looked upon her with love and pride, her satisfaction at her accomplishments only diminished by her approach to religious matters, but that particular look of disappointment was new  – and it  _ stung _ .

“You should go to Hatfield before we find another household more suitable for you,” Mary finally said, and Elizabeth nodded silently, her eyes suddenly burning. “Until then, try to behave as it is proper for a daughter of a King, would you?”

“Yes, Mary,” Elizabeth said quietly, still looking at the ground.

Another sigh, the sound of clothes ruffling on the ground and then two arms were around her shoulders for a hug. The embrace was a bit stiff and Elizabeth had a hard time relaxing into it before finally letting go of her reluctance. 

A soft kiss was placed on her hair before Mary stepped away, brushing non-existent dust from her petticoats.

“Be good, Elizabeth, and remember what blood runs through your veins,” Mary said before biding her goodbye and leaving.

Elizabeth watched her go with a mournful expression on her face. She sometimes wished things were easier between her and her sister, but the time of her childhood was long gone by now.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always more than welcome :)


End file.
